


Being Human

by Just_a_Circus_Freak



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Awkward Romance, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Circus, Death, Derry (Stephen King), F/M, Fear, Implied Sexual Content, Investigations, Male-Female Friendship, Pain, Past Character Death, Possible Character Death, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sweet, The Derry Townhouse (IT), Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21597946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_a_Circus_Freak/pseuds/Just_a_Circus_Freak
Summary: 24 years old paranormal investigator and journalist, Ulia Sterne finds herself investigating an endless mystery almost the trademark of the particular town of Derry, Maine: the missing people.With a death rate six times higher than any other average town, she soon discovers that the town hides another deeper, ancient mystery crawling underground: IT.Not only will she be intrigued, but she will soon have to face another greater investigation than running after the creature in search of information: Her own connection to the shapeshifting entity, Pennywise the Dancing Clown.Will that connection lead her to the limits of human understanding, an "awkward", strange romance or perhaps leading her on the brink of death?But one thing is sure... In Derry, no one who dies there ever really dies...(Still Under Construction, I will be rewritting some parts, updating when I can)
Relationships: Pennywise/Pennywise (IT)/Original Female Character(s), Robert "Bob" Gray/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 7





	1. Review n°1

«For 189 years... I’ve dreamed of her... I’ve craved her...  
Oh...  
I’ve missed her!»

You know what people say about Derry? That no one who dies there ever really dies.  
Is that saying true? No one ever confirmed it.  
But there are surely, in the darkest corners of the town, the lost souls of the missing still wandering, their voices echoing through the old walls...  
Something here, is not right. Something timeless, ancient.  
A thing that had roamed the mortal soil for too long, yet something none mortal ever dared to take a closer look to.  
So it lingered, here, under the ground of the Derry farmlands, for centuries, decades...  
... And it comes back to life...  
Every 27 Years.

* * *

Ulia had just arrived.  
The travel from her homeland Germany has been long. Exhausting.  
After her previous review in the Catacombs of Paris, she took a week off to her homeland to spend some time with her parents, not to regret later not passing saying Hello!  
As an occult journalist, she rarely had a moment off, always traveling throughout the world, never staying too long at the same spot, then to New-York to deliver the reviews and staying in touch with her manager, Felton.  
Her apartment looked a bit smaller than on the sheet but it was largely enough for her, as she was staying for a week.  
A week way too short to her taste for her investigations.  
But what her job consisted in exactly?  
That is quite the question she is asked about upon telling her job.  
Well, let me tell you...  
She is not a faint-hearted one for having explored some of the - deemed - most haunted places around the globe, each coming with its pack of unexplained events!  
From the Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel in Canada to La Recoleta Cemetary in Buenos Aires or to the widely known Edinburgh Castle in Scotland, Ulia’s job allow her to wander at night in these places to experience and gather paranormal information to make a review out of it to feed the special journal «Occultarum» exclusively based on paranormal events, statements and photos catching glimpses of the remnants of distant, long gone lives of ghosts and other manifestations beyond understanding.  
So, you would be tempted to ask...  
What brought her in the small town of Derry during a cold and merciless winter of 2017?  
An old mystery, she would answer.  
Something more peculiar than any other investigation she had done before.  
On her supposedly week off, she couldn’t help herself and seek throughout the internet for another place, another town, village or city to go to, unveiling the secrets of long abandoned places almost forgotten by the townsfolk, and Derry had quite its lots of strange places, including the Ironworks Factory where an explosion in 1906 killed about a hundred people, involving children on a Easter hunt.  
But that potential haunted place smelling of burnt iron and bone dust was not exactly what drew her to this town.  
It was a more complex, rooted mystery that has gnawed over the town for centuries.  
Missing people.  
As much as it could have been the act of a serial killer, the repeating cycle over centuries called her out to be potentially paranormal.  
Her sharp eye never misses an opportunity to investigate, as, as much as she loved her job, she had to work hard not to lose money and shelter.

As she barely got the time to put her luggage aside in her bedroom, her phone rang, vibrating in her pocket, sighing heavily upon seeing Felton calling her.  
Inhaling, she took the call, brought the phone to her ear...  
«Yes, Felton?» She answered.  
«Ah, Ulia, did you arrived?»  
That high-pitched, unnatural tone of his, she **hated** it. Hated it even more upon mispronouncing her name, that unwritten «Y» before the «U», her parents thought it was original but no, it wasn’t because even if she clearly pronounced her own name «Yulia» as it has been pronounced since her birth, Felton loved to scratch her name to «Ulia» as it was written and should be pronounced.  
«Yes, not a long time ago-...»  
«Good, good, remember, the «Occultarum» wants the article to be published by the end of the week, not a day more Ulia! Understood?»  
She sighed.  
Ulia had quite a temper and did not bothered holding back her sigh voice calling her superior.  
Not like she really had a choice.  
Felton played it naughty with her.  
The Occultarum was originally her idea, and Felton tricked her, turning her into his wandering pet (for the profit of a bigger company ruling several newspapers), gathering information and serving it to him on a silver plate while paying her crumb after crumb like feeding a pigeon.  
He was already wealthy enough to buy her, after all.  
But Ulia refused. She was fine gathering information for the newspaper and delivering it, but she was no pet.  
Actually she was planning since her few active years of journalism to gather enough funds to create her own occult newspaper, for her own investigating pleasure.  
«... Understood, Felton. The review, as always, will be done in time.» She replied on a flat tone, already done with the pressure he was putting on her shoulders.  
It was 8pm, she was tired, had only a week to investigate in a town of about 30 000 inhabitants and had to write a fully detailed article about it with facts and pics! As usual, Felton was pressuring, ignoring from his glass sky scrapper’s office what she was going through every time she was investigating but of course, did he cared?  
Not a single ounce or tiny inch of it!  
She was sometimes regretting her alliance with him, but Felton was one of the rare skeptical human beings having accepted to run an occult newspaper on a paper side and on a virtual one, more based on audios and videos.  
So Ulia was stuck, for now, though hoping for her future to be different.  
The stiffening and suffocating feeling of anxiety taking over her in a heartbeat, she slid her hand in her wavy dark hair before glancing at her luggage.  
After tidying her clothes, her tiredness pushed far enough in a corner of her head, she opened her laptop on for further researches that would - as it was one of her nasty habits - keep her awake until passed midnight, if not more.


	2. Performance n°1

Something...  
Something troubled IT.  
IT has been awake for a few months now, smoothly embracing the freezing and snowy winter of Maine after a tortuous wakening mid-summer.  
The Hunger.  
It was always here, never far, never too soothed before the next grumble.  
But there was something else, something itself couldn’t put the finger on...

Later that night, not that time really mattered, the thing wandered in its sewers, damp and smelly maze of stinky mossy metal and concrete where all the... organic aspects of the humans swarming above the surface were ending up, IT was walking draped in its favourite skin, waiting, smelling at the surface a potential meal, here, a balloon, red and shiny from the drain, it will do nicely, yes.  
In the shimmering texture of the red balloon, IT’s face, a face too well known, a face IT liked more than any other, the one of an almost hermaphroditic look, a face covered in white paint, too much layers of it cracked over its huge forehead, a face bearing child-like features, a round cute nose, plump lips painted in red and blue crystalline eyes, wide eyes bearing a fake innocence, mask of the comedian on stage, it was all a disguise as a ravenous, sharped tooth grin carved the face as the balloon rose, flying out of the drain like the fisherman’s bait, the pitch black sewer flooded with rays of silver blue moonlight.  
So IT waited.  
Not too long, because IT is not of the most patient.  
But soon, _soon_ the meal would be delivered to him!

* * *

After that wonderful evening spent at Adam’s family house, Simon was the happiest man on earth.  
Recently promised to the man of his life, approved by his witnessing family, the couple was walking hand in hand back home on Jackson Street, their hands holding tightly.  
«What’s this Adam? A balloon?» Simon wondered, pointing out the balloon swiftly dangling in the cold winter air, a few snowflakes over the red silicone.  
«It all seems like, darling.» Replied Adam before glancing around, his golden curls dancing around his face, «Do you want it?» He sweetly asked, stepping closer to the lost balloon.  
The clown down there, peeking from the drain, had a wide grin, drool pooling out of his mouth.  
_Yes, yes! Come closer... closer..._  
«Honey, it’s already late...» Intervened Simon, holding him back.  
Adam had a small chuckle.  
«It’s okay. Nothing is too late for you.»  
IT pouted in disgust.  
_Mortals and their trivial emotions! They all make me want to throw up!_  
Simon blushed.  
He never felt happier than after having assumed his homosexuality and has truly been surprised during his college years when Adam confessed his feelings to him.   
His best friend, then mate, then fiance...   
So Simon agreed.  
Adam walked to the drain, kneeling on the frozen tarmac shimmering of frost and snowflakes.  
«Let’s see...» He thought out loud, holding the white string of the balloon, searching from his hazel gaze where the string was attached, squinting his eyes in the pitch blackness of the drain.  
Thing was...  
_Oh, oh, oh, little mortal bit the bait! Old Pennywise will rejoice and feast, yes he will!_  
Holding the long string under the drain, IT firmly held onto it between his index finger and thumb.  
Adam frowned, a wrinkle carving between his brows.  
«Seems like it’s attached somewhere...»  
Simon had a sudden cold, needled with shivers from under his warm coat.  
«Dear, it’s okay... Please, let’s go home...»  
_Home? HOME?_   
«Let me just take a closer look and promise, we will go home! I really want to give you this balloon!» Told Adam, bending further down, laying on the ground to reach for the string hidden in the drain.  
He eventually wondered where the hell was that string attached, to what it was attached.  
What were the words already?  
Oh!  
Curiosity killed the cat!  
Adam’s arm in the drain, he felt something pulling over the string, and stared eyes widened in the pitch black darkness of the drain... before two silver dollar shimmering orbs scrutinized him.  
«Adam?» Called Simon with a soft voice, as he had a jolt of surprise shaking his body.  
Adam briefly backed, turning his face to give his fiance a gentle gaze.  
«It’s okay Simon! It was just a cat!»  
A cat.  
Little did Adam knew, his arm was still dangling down in the drain, because a cat, a stray cat finding shelter in the sewers was but harmless, right?  
Simon shared a reassured smile with his lover before Adam witnessed his face freezing in dread.  
«A-Adam, take off your-!»  
A sudden, as abrupt as a thunder strike, tortuous scream of pain rose from Adam’s throat as he felt his arm being torn, twisted off his shoulder bone.  
The **thing**, the **thing** down there wasn’t a cat!  
Simon called out Adam, pulling him off the drain but-!  
He was stuck!  
«I-it hurts, Simon, It fucking hurts!» Adam shouted and cried, blood splashing over the side of his face.  
«Adam, I can’t pull you out!» Simon sobbed, as Adam’s body suddenly got pulled deeper in the drain, his head passing through the gap.  
Simon jumped back in horror, Adam’s voice gradually drowning in water - or his own blood? -, his body convulsing in spasms on the frozen ground, soon a crimson pound forming, leaking and warming the dead tarmac.  
Then for a few seconds that seemed stretched until infinity, nothing.  
The dead silence of the night had returned, Adam’s body remaining lifeless, as if dead.  
Was he, though?  
Simon’s wet gaze, trembling hands, came closer, pressing over Adam’s thigh, himself kneel on the cold ground.  
«A-Adam...?» He called, sniffing, voice broken by his own screams and the cold.  
Nothing.  
Could it be a prank?  
Simon had a nervous smile, shaking Adam’s body once more.  
«Hey, darling... (His voice trembled) Y-you’re playing a trick on me, right?»  
«_They all float down here, Simon..._» Spoke Adam’s voice, yet it wasn’t Adam’s voice, something looking like his voice echoing down the drain, but...  
Perplex, frightened and on the brink of passing out, nauseous as this situation was but as morbid as possible, Simon pulled gently Adam’s out of there-  
Simon shrieked, stepping back, unable to believe his eyes!  
«Adam!» He howled, as his body lied, bloody, his right arm torn off his shoulder, cut of red muscles dangling from his shoulder bone, half of his face scratched to the skull, an eye pierced and dangling out of its socket, the string of the balloon hanged around his neck.  
Simon brought his hands to his twisted face of disbelief, tears streaming down his face, when, looking up to the red balloon, was now written in pure white:  
**Till death us do part!**


	3. Review n°2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little note: as much as I refer to gay/homosexual people in this chapter - as in the previous one - it is only to stick more accurately to the statement that the people of Derry have something against this community - as stated in the book and shown in Chapter2. I firmly have no hate towards gay/homosexual/LGBTQ+ people, everyone is free to do what they want with their orientations and I'm not concerned by it. There is no understatement in that fanfiction and I do not support hate or violence towards this community.

After an usual sleep deprived night, Ulia was awake quite early in the morning.  
At 7, the sun was barely showing any soft rays through the thick curtain of white clouds wrapping the town in a blanket of snowflakes and white rugs of snow and she was cautiously gazing through the window of her apartment over Center Street.  
A hot coffee mug between her heating fingers, she had already planned her day to spend at the Derry Library, nose nestled in books for the day.  
After all, some books could be more reliable on than any website. Books were the bearers of history itself and as any paranormal investigation required, spending some time through the pages of history itself couldn’t hurt.  
Even if she was excited upon leaving the apartment to the bus stop that would lead her to the library, Ulia was feeling anxious.  
A week was way too short... She would do her best in investigating and finding some statements and facts for «Occultarum» but she did not even knew where to start.

On her way to the library, she caught on the brick wall of a building a missing poster of a child, a young girl named Lily Spring that had disappeared a few days ago, last seen in Bassey Park. Upon noticing how thick the poster seemed to be, yet whipped by the snow and cold, she took her camera from her backpack - always following her no matter where she would go, it was part of her travels and investigations - to take a photo before scratching with her nail in the bottom left corner of the poster. To her surprise, it came off, revealing a missing teen face, David Johnson, then under this another little boy’s face, and so on.  
She frowned.  
That was weird, these posters glued one on top of another and it seemed to have lasted for months!  
The further she could pull off the decaying pieces of papers brought her back to June.  
Bringing her hand to her chin, she cautiously took a photo of it, questioning on the possible meaning of this.  
_It’s almost as if... as soon as another child or teen disappear... They are forgotten._  
Crushed from the physical word, vanishing in darkness, never to be heard or seen ever again.  
Ulia frowned, her thick brows drawing wrinkles over her forehead.  
Le library would possibly hold more answers to her swarming mind full of questions.

Gazing around at the structure, shelves filled with books of all types and kinds, she walked to the desk where one of the librarian was busy on her phone playing Candy Crush.  
«Hum... Hello.» Ulia greeted, placing a thick strand of hair behind her ear.  
The librarian - an imposing lady draped in a flower dress, surely a Desigual one - raised her blue gaze from behind a psychedelic pair of glasses, her ginger bangs hiding her brows. On the tiny badge over her chest was written «Christelle».  
«Yes?» She answered, caught in playing like a child.  
«I did a few researches before coming here and I’ve seen you have history books about the town. Would it be possible to have a look?»  
The librarian adjusted her glasses, humming as she stood up, the chair creaking on the parquet before heading the some shelves on a quiet - and rarely disturbed - corner of the library.  
Patting her chubby hand with fuchsia nail polish over the back of the books, some old and worn, she glanced back at Ulia.  
«Here they are. Just be careful with them. You can find on the left shelf the old registers from 1900 to 2000, diverses history books here (where her hand was laying) and diverse other town events listed on the right shelf. Enjoy.» She told before heading back to her desk.  
Observing her doing so, Ulia shifted her misty gaze to the books, starting with historical ones.  
_The History of the Old Derry_ sounded interesting enough to pile it up in her arms with other registers books and random town events from the several centuries that she put on an empty table quite noisily, troubling the quietness of the library so early in the morning.

Until 11am she kept searching, reading, her notebook and pencil next to her to take notes and relevant information gathered from book to book, studying photos, tales of people going missing without a trace.  
If Derry had been a later settlement compared to Plymouth in 1620 or way earlier, Jamestown in 1607, Derry was officially born in 1740.  
Land of farms and lumbering, over three hundred settlers - including the 91 founders that signed the _Derry Charter_ who all disappeared in the blink of an eye - vanished from 1740 to 1743, three years during no one ever knew who was - or were - the killer(s).  
While reading and taking notes about it, Ulia caught a drawing representing the political process to create and sign the Derry Charter, which she took a picture of it.  
Footsteps rising to her ears, she caught on her peripheral vision a manicured hand landing on the table and she glanced to Christelle, seemingly bothered.  
«May I ask you why are you taking pictures?» She murmured, lowering her gaze from above her glasses.  
«Oh, I am a journalist,» She replied, rummaging through her backpack.  
When Ulia started to work, Felton gifted her with a «golden pass». Upon presenting that identity card affiliated to Felton’s wealthy business, people often closed their eyes if Ulia’s actions were to disturb.  
Quite unhealthy you would tell me but...  
Ulia was finding it useful.  
Christelle took the card, squinting her eyes over the engraved information.  
«So... the «Occultarum», you’re telling me...» She told, handing her back the card, rolling her shoulders, «We don’t like journalists very much around here, like gays. Heard about what happened to that poor guy last night?» Christelle asked.  
Ulia frowned.  
«No.»  
She wasn’t sure herself that she really wanted to know.  
She had nothing against people from that community, gays, trans, she wasn’t homophobic at all, having herself met some during her travels, they even seemed to be people more open minded than any others!  
Christelle shook her head.  
«The poor things, they were coming home late in the night. I knew Simon, met him a few times. Poor boy, the death of his boyfriend broke him. The police found the corpse in front of a drain, face ripped on a side and an arm nowhere to be found, torn as if a bear had attacked him. The funeral is to be on Saturday and I can barely imagine the pain Simon and Adam’s family are going through...» She told, her voice whistling in her throat at the emotion coming from her words.  
Ulia’s lips parted, face twisting in compassion and astonishment.  
«Oh dear...»  
Even if she was astounded by what the librarian told her, at the back of her head some words hit her harder than others.  
_Face ripped on a side and an arm nowhere to be found... as if a bear had attacked him..._  
How on earth would a bear attack a man in the streets at night without making a fuss?  
«... So just for you to know, I’m allowing you to take pictures but be careful to who you speak to, in town... Enough people are going missing these days.»  
You considered her words as she returned to her desk, leaving you in your researches.  
Bringing her hand to her chin, the words were still echoing in her mind. She turned the page of her notebook, writing down the statement before returning to her endless scrolling through pages of time and history.  
1879: Lumberjacks found dead near the Kenduskeag Stream.  
1904: Claude Heroux murders about twelve men with an ax before being condemned by hanging.  
1906: Kitchener Ironworks explosion, killed exactly 108 people including 88 children on an Easter hunt.  
Ulia heard about that event.  
Though she did not had any photos to look at and noticed, in the middle of the children’s photos before the hunt, a blurry figure in the background. Something... odd.  
As if someone moved when the photo was taken but not in a single direction. In many, at the same time  
Her face and gaze scrutinizing the photo she noticed a puffy outfit that looked quite goofy (as that style of dressing code was not common at the time), which led her to look at the previous photo-...  
Was that a wagon in the middle of that happy maze of children and people?  
Scratching her head, she took note and a photo of it.  
She couldn’t help but to gaze again at the blurry being on the photo.  
It almost looked like...  
A clown?  
Shaking her head, it did not seemed right.  
On a Easter hunt and especially in the 1900’s, it was common fun to engage clowns and other mascots for events.  
Though why was her sixth sense telling her that something was wrong about that?  
Photos over the next pages were captions after the gruesome explosion, ruins everywhere, carbonized baskets with broken eggs...  
**Crack!**  
Ulia rose her head from the book, having heard that distinct sound in the distance.  
Exactly, leading in another wing of the library.  
Gazing around, unsure, no one seemed to have noticed.  
Curiosity...  
Curiosity pushed her to gather her stuff in her backpack, leaving it here - since there was but few people including elders - she slowly stepped to the source of the sound, few curls of smoke disappearing in the air as she found on the wooden floor...  
An egg. Crushed, almost cooked, some pieces of shell blazing red, turning black and cold.  
«What...?» She whispered, kneeling to touch the hand painted shell, a work worthy of a child with messy waves of yellow paint over the purple painted shell.  
**Crack!**  
Another?  
Looking up, further in the deadly quiet hallway, only the neon lights of the emergency exit shimmering above the doors, she frowned in confusion, though still walking to the next shell, this one painted blue and green.  
During her travels she saw some of the most terrifying paranormal manifestations, including possession, poltergeists, EVP, threats, physical manifestations but this...  
Where were these eggs coming from??  
A chicken couldn’t have laid these, except if it was chicken from hell, seeing how burnt these eggs were.  
As if they were coming right from the Ironworks explosion.  
_Insane._  
That was definitely insane... and **thrilling**.  
Ulia never witnessed such a thing and was truly, beside the sane fear any human being would feel, excited.  
This was a track, a track to follow.  
What if there was something here wishing to interact with her?  
Or could it be a prank?  
**Crack!**  
One must have had walked quietly and efficiently to put these eggs like this.  
Plus all the doors around the hallways were closed to the public, as she noticed a sign forbidding to people beside employees and librarians to enter this area.  
Well, she would be scowled and would find a lie caught live.  
**Crack!**  
This time, further down, a faint sound from downstairs.  
The archives.  
Probably thousands of books stacked here for further decades than what shown and exposed on the library’s shelves.  
Yes, there was something here.  
Ulia knew it.  
Cautiously stepping into the maze of drawers, greenish neon lights tinting the room, a sudden silence made her breath the only loud noise down there...


	4. Review n°3

The fluttering, electric sound of the faltering neon lights caught her attention, legs bent, she gazed of a frightful gleam all around, when the neon above her head broke, cracking sound of light and glass, Ulia screamed in a jolt of terror, stepping forward, huddled, the archives in a pitch black darkness for a second.  
Her hair partially covering her face, her sight guessing unknown shapes in the dark, the neon lights started to lit again in a synchronous wave movement.  
On.  
Off.  
On.  
Off.  
As the light turned on again, she looked to the side, a face grimacing at mere inches of her face.  
She shrieked, brutally jumping backwards, the abrupt jolt of fear landing her feet to crush on an egg (where the hell did it came from?!), the yolk making her posture faltering and falling.  
Wasted eggs, decaying ones, her hands crushed over them, her whole body, the stench sending her stomach in her throat, almost about to vomit her own guts and bowels.  
But when she looked at her hand, supposedly covered in putrid yolk, there was nothing.  
No eggs, no stench, only the smell of old books and dust.  
Hastily standing up, heart on the brink of failure, a sudden, high-pitched laugh rang in her ears as a gloved hand closed over her throat.  
Ulia gasped, her back brutally slammed against the metal drawers, noisily.  
The noise seemed to amuse...  
T-the clown?!  
Eyes wide opened, her hands over his wrist, she gazed, astonished more than frightened at the figure before her.  
It seemed to be a man, though his facial features were confusing as he looked very young yet old at the same time.  
His baby-like facial features included his round red painted nose and sickly red plump lips over a white pancaked painted face, two red lines extending from the corner of his lips to above his dramatic carved brows over the layers of paint.  
His brows, heavily furrowed over two blazing golden orbs with a wicked, evil smile revealing front bunny teeth, the being cackled, shaking its huge head where her eyes caught the impressive ginger color of his fiery hair.  
«W-what are you??» Questioned Ulia, the grip tightening over her throat, her nails digging in the ruffs of his sleeve as the clown tilted his head, a fake friendly pout - or smile? - curling up the corners of his lips.  
«W-what am I?» He mocked, giggling loudly, too loudly.  
This was off, all of this was off.  
How could he looked so lifelike, so real when she saw him on a photo from a century ago?!  
It was impossible!  
Ulia started to feel dizzy as her mouth remained open, her trachea trying to inhale some air but the constricting squeezing over her throat like the deadly grip of a snake was blackening her sight and reducing her chances to breathe to nothing.  
«L-let... go!» She gasped, her face feeling red, even turning purple under the pressure, veins popping over her temples.  
Nonetheless, she had enough strength - in a vain attempt to knock him out - to kick her foot right in the crotch which only threw the clown in another sea of laughter, the hit feeling more like a tickling to him.  
«Ho,ho, ho, trying the infamous «kick in the balls», I see! Useless, Ulia and you know it, yes you do!» His raspy voice cackled even more.  
As she was about to pass out, words bubbled and slipping away, sight blurry and confused, she felt her senses coming again as the grip of the clown loosened over her throat, though still tight enough to block her.  
A sudden shaking and abrupt, painful slamming against the drawers brought her fully back as she blinked, looking daggers at the clown still holding her.  
«Let me go!» She ordered, yes ordered because she was tough, perhaps a bit too much to the clown’s taste.  
«Uh oh!» Said the clown, «Playing it tough, hm?»  
His face moved considerably closer to her, mere inches, blazing eyes of gold staring right through her soul.  
«Will you still be...?» He spoke, slowly, words gradually fading as his right eye went off, drool leaking out of his mouth.  
He remained still for a moment, a moment long enough for Ulia to hold her breath and frown in confusion as he seemed to be... broken? Like a robot, like a toy, something deficient.  
She furrowed her brows upon seeing something moving under the skin of the clown. Something... swarming?  
A chuckle started to shake his large and puffy shoulders as Ulia realized that it was a spider, a spider piercing the skin of his cheek, walking, it looked like a black widow.  
She started to panic, not only she was afraid of insects, but she was terrorized by their dead bodies.  
Death.  
More kept coming. Hornets buzzing out of his ears, cockroaches crawling out of his mouth and spiders from the cracks of his face as that **thing** was laughing like a mad man, though never staring directly at her.  
They ran on his sleeves, covering his body, only to die in her hair, on her clothes, hornets buzzing loudly as they tangled themselves in her curls, some managing to bite her under her wide cotton shirt!  
She whined in pain as she was screaming, trying to push him, to break that deadly embrace rhymed by her heart pounding like a drum in her chest and the crazy, echoing laugh of the clown.  
The overall confusion buzzed in her head, sharp bites of pain hitting like drumsticks on her skin, she was drowning in that maze, feeling like she could die at any second-...  
«What the hell is going on here?!» Shouted the librarian, her loud steps reaching for her.  
As sudden as all of this was, everything disappeared in the blink of an eye. Ulia fell, her butt slamming against the floor, her back kissing three or four drawers knobs in the lower back along the way.  
She let out a loud and painful moan, standing up a bit dizzy, her misty gaze glancing in every direction.  
He had disappeared.  
Instinctively, she shook her head, sliding her fingers in her hair and lifted her shirt up to her belly.  
No bites.  
No dead insects.  
No putrid smell of wasted eggs.  
No clown, no laugh.  
Has it been all but an hallucination??  
She had an upset, confused gaze at the librarian, frowning at her.  
«What are you doing in the archives?? It’s strictly forbidden to the public! Now get out of here!» She scolded her.  
Ulia left without further ado, way too troubled to answer anything, grabbing her stuff and leaving, just **leaving** this place!


	5. Performance n°2

Oh, oh, Pennywise did enjoyed that little show, yes!  
He would even say that he loved it!  
The look on her face, the **fear**!

Yes, the fear...

He drooled, just thinking about it! It was so tasty, so salty over freshly, still warm hunted meat!  
That planet was definitely a good choice, for the food in abundance!  
Yet...  
Pennywise was still raging inside, back in the maze of sewers, the damp, dirty smell of it filling his nostrils, water droplets echoing here and there in the frail dim light filtering though the holes above the surface.  
There was something he couldn’t understand, for he had roamed these lands for what seemed to be eternity.  
_She_ was back. She came back!  
And he could barely believe it!  
After all these years, all that time he had spent sleeping, dreaming, eating, feasting on flesh and feeding on fear, that female, that earthwoman was sending him back to **that** time and he. Hated. It!  
Oh, now that he had smelled her, smelled the scent of her juicy flesh, he would track her. Play with her, toy with her mind like a powerless doll and then hunt her down. Yes.  
His maniac cackle echoed in the maze of sewers, bouncing against the concrete and metallic pipes.  
Hand on his chest, head thrown backwards on the scene of his small wagon, scene opened and shimmering with apocalyptic clouds, he started to dance for an invisible crowd, perhaps for the deceased, decaying bodies floating up, up, up high around his tower, children, teens, remains of adults...  
He would let her relax, digesting what she had lived for now. Letting fear sink in every pore and artery of her body, yes, he was feeling it.  
Such a delicious taste, like the sweet aroma of a stewing meal calling his hunger to rise and thrive, filling his lungs, blinding his soul.  
He would enjoy every drop of her, to the last sip of her blood to the last breath of her mouth.  
_You will see, earthwoman, what it costs to play hide and seek with Pennywise the Dancing Clown!_

* * *

Naturally curious when something was intriguing him, Pennywise couldn’t help but to sneak in her apartment.  
Nostrils flaring at each scent and smell of the rooms, that earthwoman was living in quite a small place.  
That was temporary. He knew it.  
None of her clothes, pullovers, sweat shirts, jogging pants, jeans or even underwear had the same everlasting scent of home.  
She had travelled. A lot.  
One of her dark blue shirt in his gloved hand, he put it back, tidied as all the rest was, smoothing the surface from his hand as his ears were catching the watering fall of the shower.  
There was still fear lingering in the air, so he bothered himself putting the clothes back.  
A week could be very long as it could be very short. He still had time.  
_Pennywise always has time for a good fun!_

Silently, he stepped to the door frame of the bathroom, his eyes widening slightly, mouth agape, drool pooling, dangling from his lower lip.  
She was there...  
A faint chemical smell of hazelnut twitched his delicate nose as he immediately hated it.  
He even shook his head, pouting in disgust.  
There was no way her flesh could taste good with that horrendous smell!  
Stepping still a bit closer, his golden, wet gaze of arousal ran over the curves of her body, preciously hidden to him from behind a white curtain. Earthwomen... He had a certain weakness for their kind.  
Something he couldn’t explain himself. Not that he was looking for an explanation either.  
It was an instinct, as basic as feeding.  
So guessing her shape like a sensual dance behind that curtain, her body bending, turning and fondling her skin surely covered in foam was but an exquisite show, even for a being like him.  
That curtain...  
He stepped closer, his breath almost waving like a breeze against the waterproof fabric.  
Inhaling her smell, the scent of her skin, his eye floated away, his senses catching the slow, fragile beating of her heart, her veins pumping the blood flowing throughout her whole body...  
Some parts warmer than others...  
He could... yes, he could.  
Tearing that curtain to shreds, clawing at her naked body, grabbing her, seizing her and enjoying himself for a little while.  
Then he would leave her there, all covered in his cum and her own blood, still wet and shivering from the shower and his assault and he would laugh, **laugh** for what he should have done ages ago! Froze in his stance, he let out a growl loud enough to cover the shower stream, which made her jump and gasp in fright.  
It was time for him to leave. For now.


	6. Review n°4

Pulling over the curtain, Ulia believed for a second that she wasn’t alone.  
She remained locked in her apartment for the rest of the day, trying to cool her mind and finding a rational explanation for what happened previously at the library.  
Gazing around, water dripping on her skin, she took her towel to wrap herself in it, still confused.  
Was that a growl, a few seconds ago? Right there, behind the curtain?  
It could have been a sound from the pipes of the old building though.  
That’s what she wanted to believe.  
Even after she put on a casual pyjama, she was still thinking about what had happened, slightly traumatized.  
Who wouldn’t be, after all?  
It all seemed so real... The bugs, the buzzing, the bites blazing under her skin...  
The clown...

Sitting in her small living room at her dinner table, laptop open in front of her, she was trying to search any information about that clown.  
Looking on her camera at the photos she took at the library, she zoomed over the group photo, attempting to decipher the blurry shape more precisely.  
Squinting her eyes, breathing deeply in her reflexion, she then scrutinized the photo of the wagon, meddled in the populace.  
Zooming on it, her lips parted as she red:  
«Pen...ny...wise... Dancing... Clown?»  
She never heard about that name anywhere...  
Searching it on the web turned to be fruitless.  
There was nothing concerning a certain Pennywise the Dancing Clown, the answer would have probably been in the archives of the library that remained locked to her attempts.  
So she wondered...  
What if it knew? It, IT, that thing, that clown.  
What if...  
What if...  
So many questions, so little answers.  
She scratched her skull, grabbing a handful of thick hair in her hands and sighed heavily.  
One week...  
Extending her area of research in town would grant her benefits and maybe even resize it.  
A place, a building, anything would be helpful.  
So it was decided.  
Tomorrow, she will go downtown.

* * *

Few snowflakes were falling down the streets as Ulia walked downtown, a beanie over her head, her backpack never far off of her back. She was searching for people to interview.  
As she first stepped into a small market to buy some food along the way, she heard in the distance the sound of an old TV hanged on the wall, the news informing of the missing of a child.  
Elizabeth Johnson. Her body was found dead by the Kenduskeag stream in the Barrens, both of her legs missing. She was only fifteen.  
«God, will it ever end?» Spoke an old woman to the cashier.  
She twisted her mouth, shaking her head, upset.  
«Who knows? You know what they say about that damn town!» She exclaimed, the few people around glancing away.  
Came Ulia’s turn. She had only bought some noodles and a small bottle of water.  
As the cashier was repeatedly scanning the articles, Ulia took out her credit card for payment.  
«What do they say about Derry?» She asked, curious about it.  
The cashier glanced at her from a dull look.  
«Derry is cursed. That’s what people say.» She replied harshly.  
Yes, this town was cursed, but that’s not the answer Ulia was thinking about.  
She tilted her head.  
«Could you tell me more about it?» She required, stepping aside to leave some free space for the customers behind her.  
The cashier frowned.  
«What else do you want me to tell you? Between the homophobic community, the hate for journalists who stick their noses into everyone else businesses and the missing, there’s not much more to tell about that place!» She rose her voice, tinted with a bothered tone.  
She then suddenly glanced back at her with a more insisting gaze.  
«... Excuse me, are you a journalist, to bother me with such questions?»  
It sounded like an accusation.  
«What if I really am?» Ulia replied.  
The cashier laughed of a coarse laugh.  
«You better leave that town before someone put its hands on you. And leave my shop, along the way.» She coldly told, astonishing her for a second.  
Ulia rose her eyebrows before politely saying goodbye.  
What the hell was that?

Hoping it was but a unfortunate situation, she became disillusioned upon witnessing the same pattern in every conversation she tried to have with the locals.  
They all rejected or ignored her questions and attempts to learn more about the town, its past and the missing.  
Disappointed by her fruitless researches and attempts, she wandered a bit, her feet creaking in the snow.  
Wrapping her scarf loosely around her neck, she walked pass an old pack of apartments with cracked red bricks walls, not paying attention to it until she noticed a man staring at her from the front door, a cigarette in hand.  
Feeling his gaze on her, she slightly turned to see him from behind her shoulder.  
«... Looking for something, aren’t ya?» His voice cracked, raspy.  
She frowned.  
She was not the kind to judge someone on their looking, not at all, but that guy had...  
Something.  
Something off, she would say.  
Not only because, upon stepping closer she noticed his left eye going lazy from time to time or his disheveled, thin hair on top of his head or the overall strangeness of his face (a peculiar mix of harshness and softness, both applying like masks depending on the movements of his facial muscles) but she also felt her curiosity tickled by his age approaching the 40’s. The early wrinkles of his face, especially on his forehead and the crow’s feet seemed to have already a thousand tales to tell.  
«How do you know?» She asked, on the defensive.  
The man with baby blue eyes had a smirk, crushing his cigarette in a small metallic grey ashtray he was holding in his wide hand.  
«I could tell you more about the town, if this is what you’re looking for.» He told, staring at her from under his low brows, blowing a long curl of smoke from his plump lips.  
Ulia’s eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat.  
«Do you?» She still questioned.  
Somewhere inside of her, her inner voice was screaming her to turn her back on him and leave. She would find sources elsewhere, she did not needed the help of a creepy man like him. He had that way to stare at her, there was something insane at the back of his eyes, something dark, something terrible and she knew it.  
The man smiled. A smile she had never seen, it looked like a pout, but it wasn’t as the corners of his lips were curled up yet his lower lip was dropping low, too low over his chin, as if numb.  
«I do, that old Bob had lived in Derry for a lifetime now! (He pushed the door from his free hand) Why not coming in? Better be comfy to hear a tale or two, right?» He suggested, his unsettling smile remaining for a few seconds.  
Ulia hesitated.  
As much as she did not trusted him, she was craving for information and he had already enticed her.  
So she made a step. Then two... and cautiously walked pass his incredibly tall figure holding the door open for her to enter the hallway as she felt his terrifying gaze needling her skin with unpleasant shivers.  
He smelled of stale tobacco, leather and alcohol. Not the most pleasant scents to have on your skin and she nervously slid her sleeve impregnated with her perfume under her nostrils to inhale her own scent.  
He then passed in front of her, his lanky figure walking nonchalantly up the stairs and Ulia followed in silence. His style was a bit old fashioned if she was to express herself on that matter and she thought that men wearing suspenders were quite rare now...

«Make yourself at ease.» Slowly told the man, reaching for a wooden cupboard with glassy doors. He pulled out a bourbon, the amber liquid swirling in the bottle as he poured himself a shot in a glass, «Want something to drink?» He suggested, briefly glancing at Ulia.  
She carefully stepped near a seat in front of the worn, old couch, gazing around in the small apartment.  
It was old, yet clean. The style was worn but there were no dust or stains over the walls or the floor.  
«No, thank you.» She replied as he took a seat in the couch, slamming his boots over the coffee table, taking a sip of his glass.  
Ulia was feeling uncomfortable and barely knew where or how to place herself like a plant in a house.  
From his crooked gaze, he nodded her to sit in front of him, which she did, putting her backpack against the side of the seat.  
«So...?» The man expected, laying his arm along the head of the couch, his hand dangling in thin air.  
She bent to take out her small notebook and her pen, hitting the back of it from a sharp click over the notebook cover.  
«I will ask you a few questions, but first, I’ll introduce myself.» She explained, as the man was carefully listening to her.  
She took out her card, her little instant pass for everywhere, also useful for short and quick introductions.  
He gazed at it, slightly frowning his brows as if he wasn’t seeing it clearly but then handed it back to her, sitting more properly.  
«First,» She asked, «... how long have you been living in Derry?»  
«Well...» Breathed the man, staring blankly for a moment, «... about 23 years, if I remember correctly.»  
He then stood, going towards an old gramophone.  
«Left Sweden a long time ago... Ever heard Swedish music?» He questioned, putting a disc over it, as the melody rose. Opera, very classic.  
Ulia shook her head, muttering a small «No...»  
As she gazed longer than she should have had over his eyes, she shifted her attention on her notebook to take notes, still feeling his awkward gaze on her.  
When she lifted her eyes again, he was still staring, motionless. She even guessed drool over his lips, making them glossy.  
«Hum...» She said to fill the blank, slightly moving in her seat to chase away her discomfort, «H-have you ever heard strange things about the town? Haunted stories, something about the missing?»  
«Ah, the missing...» He repeated on a nostalgic tone, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers, «That’s what makes Derry different. That... (He briefly paused, face froze, his lower lip dropping over the shape of buck front teeth) abundance!»   
He had a small laugh, high-pitched, almost comical. Except that it wasn’t funny.  
It was scary.  
«Abundance-?» She repeated.  
He then reached for a cigar in a metallic copper box over the coffee table. Lit it up, smoke dancing in the air.  
«Old Bob doesn’t have much visit, so here is a little treat from me to myself!» He told, inhaling the dried plant, the end of the cigar blazing red before he blew a long and thick stream of smoke that made her cough despite the distance.  
Ulia felt the need to stand, as that discomfort was too much to handle.  
_Leave. Leave now while you can!_  
That’s what her mind was screaming her to do.  
But still. She remained, walking to the door leading to the stairs on the side of the building, when she noticed something odd in a dried flower pot.  
Insects.  
Dead insects.  
She slightly bent to examine it and upon withdrawing from that macabre sight she jumped.  
«Here. With the cold outside, I thought you might... enjoy some tea. Ladies like tea, don’t they?»  
He was standing mere inches of her, a cup of tea in his shaky hand, that odd smile over his face as he focused his gaze on her.  
«Oh, I did not meant to bother, sir-»  
«Bob.» He cut her.  
Ulia backed slightly, taking the hot cup from his hand. It was bloody cold as she brushed his fingertips in the process.  
«Thank you, Bob.» She replied as he stepped away.  
She stirred it a bit with the spoon and took a sip as indeed, shivers rose over her skin upon tasting the sweet taste perfectly sugared.  
How didn’t she noticed how cold it was in the room?  
«You know...» Bob spoke, opening the display case, taking out some small wooden or porcelain sculpture, «When I came here, I had nothing. The circus...»  
He had a strange twisting of emotions at the word, Ulia briefly gazing away at the frames hanging over the wall behind her.  
«The circus gave a lot to me. Have you ever been to the circus, Miss Sterne?»  
Ulia froze.  
She did not gave him her family name.  
From the corner of the eye, she glanced at him.  
What was he holding?  
Slightly addressing him a wider sight, she noticed a small wooden carved and painted clown in his wide hand. He was holding it tightly, so tightly that his knuckles turned white.  
Bob’s chest moved deeper.  
«Have you ever been to the circus, Miss Ulia Sterne?!» He suddenly growled, his voice deeper, cutting each word with a deep breath as his sick smile remained on his face, drool dangling from his lower lip, his head tilting as he was seemingly attempting to remain...  
Human.  
Ulia gave him a confused glance, frowning, small wrinkles carving over her forehead as she heard him breathe despite being at three meters from her.  
_Take a sip of tea. It will clear your mind, the tea is hot._  
So she did.  
Bringing the cup to her lips as she gazed away at the moment he lost control over his eye floating away, she was about to sip on the tea when she felt something swarming and touching her upper lip.  
She had a small unpleasant hum at the feeling of it as the tea suddenly smelled... rotten? Wasted? Stale? Many adjectives to describe it as the tea had now the color of blood and the smell of sewer water, the liquid bouncing over the surface as if an earthquake was happening in the cup.  
But there was no earthquake.  
Hand nervously yet slightly shaking, she stirred the odd liquid as a handful of white worms were drowning in the cup.  
In the shock of it, she had a retching, her mouth twisting and her throat squeezing as she dropped the cup.  
It shattered, the worms twisting on the floor as she stepped back, glancing in Bob’s direction-...  
Where was he?  
He wasn’t there?   
The display case was closed, the apartment looking dead for a moment. No more music was playing in the background.  
The glass was on the coffee table and the cigar still consuming in the ashtray...  
She examined his glass...  
Was that an human eyeball?  
Shifting her gaze to the cupboard filled with bottles, it seemed to her that there was nothing despite the liquid inside and it was now filled with rats, mouses, beetles and other horrifying things that weren’t supposed to be in those bottles!  
She stepped back in horror, a faint circus themed music rising as she literally heard the gramophone working on its own, though the sound did not even seemed to come from it but from a frame over the wall.  
«You know... The circus gave a lot to me, Ulia... It gave me bodies...» Said the voice.  
She looked closely to a sepia frame in particular.  
A wagon, behind a tall man in a suit with and odd smile.  
And on the wagon, written...  
Pennywise the Dancing Clown.  
An echoing, evil cackle pounded in the whole apartment as she knew she had to get out of here fast!  
Grabbing her backpack, she stepped to reach the hallway, something suddenly falling from the ceiling, a body, dangling, the body that looked like Bob’s a slipknot around his neck, that body smelling death and rotten flesh, an advanced decaying state as she almost felt it falling over her.  
She screamed, terrorized, stepping back and stumbling as the body was dangling like a lifeless doll in the door frame.  
Quickly, she had to get out!  
Whining in horror, she walked back on her butt, standing up, reaching for the other door leading to the stairs outside. She grabbed the doorknob.  
«Come on! Open!» She said, panic gaining ground as the door remain shut.  
Agitating herself over it, she tried to push it from her weight, nothing.  
Then it all stopped again.  
The circus music. The laugh. The voice.  
She remained stuck against the door for about a minute, glancing nimbly around, the fast pace of her eyeballs almost making her dizzy as she took a deep breath. The apartment was now worn, torn, decaying. Abandoned. Dead.  
It’s not real. None of this is real.   
She remembered what happened at the library.  
Nothing was real. It was an hallucination. Her mind playing a trick.  
Oh, was she becoming crazy?  
**THUMP**!  
**THUMP**!  
**THUMP**!  
What was that, again?  
Something was coming...  
Her only instinct had been to run and hide somewhere, running in the kitchen, hiding behind the kitchen counter, kneeling, her back flattened against it in the dark.  
She held her breath.  
It wasn’t real.  
Closing her eyes, she kept them shut until a bright orange light and the clicking of buttons startled her.  
The oven was lit, lit as about to explode and inside, slowly spinning like a dead pig, a human head, flesh carbonized, eyeballs as white as a cooked fish, an apple in the head’s mouth.  
She gasped, trying not to scream, the heat of the oven flushing to her face as a hot winter fireplace when a hand closed on her mouth, muffling her scream.  
She gazed to the left.  
«We all float down here, yes we do!» Said the clown, mere inches of her face.  
As she barely noticed he had took his hand off, she screamed, the clown mimicking her and agitating his figure at an inhuman speed as Ulia stood, her head bumping against the sharp counter’s corner before making her way out of here, stumbling, hitting against the door frame of the hallway before letting all her weight crash into the front door.


	7. Review n°5

Sat at the Falcon Bar at an empty table, she ordered a shot of vodka.  
If she could numb her head enough to erase that gruesome show she had been a victim of, that would be nice.  
That fucking clown...  
He tricked her again!  
She was damning herself because she did not listened to her intuition.  
Still troubled and traumatized by it, she did not even knew on which event focusing as they were all mingled in her mind.  
That man, Bob.  
The frame.  
The stale tea.  
The bottles.  
The oven.  
The dead body.  
Everything was still flashing in her mind as she was at her fourth shot and gave a sign to the waiter to bring her a another one.  
He was quite young, perhaps twenty and really cute. He had an innocent look with his brown eyes and thick dark blonde hair, a small beard of three days on the jaw.  
«Another one, please.» Ulia said, her head now barely holding on her neck.  
«I’m sorry Madam but you look like you can’t handle another one. If you’re drunk, I’ll be asking you to leave.»  
She snorted.  
«I can take another one. Thing is, if I was to tell you what the hell happened since I came here a day ago, you wouldn’t believe me!» She told, as the young man gathered the empty shots, giving her a concerned look.  
«Fine...» He said, coming back a few minutes later with the shot of crystalline liquid, similar to water.  
Since it was three in the afternoon, there wasn’t a lot of customers, so the young man sat in front of her, curious.  
«I’m Thomas.» He introduced as she gulped down the shot, her mouth twitching at the strong alcohol taste.  
«Ulia.» She replied, pushing the glass aside, her head laying against her inner wrist.  
She sighed.  
«I’m a journalist.» She told.  
«Oh!» Thomas replied, «What are you investigating on?» He questioned.  
Ulia had a small chuckle, as it all seemed to be irrelevant.  
«Paranormal.»  
She was used to EVP phenomenon, misty apparitions, few falling objects, dropping temperatures, all in a specific place.  
That town was definitely different as she was thinking it was haunted by a demon of some sorts.  
Demons were certainly powerful but as abstract as ghosts. They need a host to show the gruesome and terrifying nature of hell.  
That thing, that clown, could have been a demon. But the consistency of his illusions and shapes was of the most troublesome as she had herself no explanation to it.  
Somehow it was deranging her.  
Thomas eyes widened.  
«Well, that’s rare! I’ve never met any in my life!» He exclaimed, fascinated.  
«Rare are surely the newspapers companies accepting to rule an occult press.» She told.  
«What are you investigating on? If it’s not tactless.» Thomas asked, joining his hands over the table, head bent, truly interested in the matter.  
Ulia had a small smile and a snort.  
Snorting for his obvious interest or the «comical» aspect of the whole situation she had been through.  
«I would say the missing people but... (she glanced on the small shot, her index finger tracing the curve of the glass) I’ve lived some things that make me question the true meaning of my investigation.»  
She then glanced at him.  
«Have you always lived here?» She asked.  
Thomas nodded  
«Yeah, unfortunately, and I don’t have enough money to leave. I hate this town.» He confessed.  
Then, carefully gazing at each sides, he bent further on the table to whisper:  
«I’ve always felt like... There was something causing all of this. The missing, the... overall atmosphere of the town.» He said.  
Ulia tilted her head and slightly frowned.  
That was interesting.  
«Tell me more.» She inquired, now having his full attention.  
Thomas had a pout.  
«I don’t know, I wouldn’t like to mislead you in your researches but I think the rate of missing here is six times higher than the «average» one. It’s as if something was feeding over the town. It sounds crazy, I know!»  
Ulia shook her head.  
«No.»  
Thomas stared at her, eyebrows raised.  
«Not at all.» Ulia added.  
He had a long sigh of relief.  
«Finally, finally someone who listens!» He murmured, his voice barely rising from his throat, «I’ve tried talking about that to my friends, my family but no one wanted to listen or even believe what I said!» He explained.  
That was weird.  
Weird because it seemed to be the case for everyone in town.  
«Well, I do believe you, Thomas. I’m here for the week to investigate but I’m already considering asking for another week because there is so much going on and I lack time to understand it.»  
«So much going on?» Repeated Thomas on an intrigued tone.  
Ulia gazed at him with her pale grey eyes.  
«Do not worry about that.»  
At the moment she wanted to reach for the notebook in her backpack, she grabbed her head in her hands and gasped.  
«Shit!»  
She left it in that doomed apartment and upon leaving, witnessing it crumbling and abandoned, the thought barely came to her mind to pick it up. She would have been too afraid to go back there and was certain that she surely won’t.  
«What is it?» Wondered Thomas, a hint of concern across his face.  
«Nothing, nothing.» Ulia replied, breathing heavily, looking at the table further away.  
She then glanced at him again.  
«Is there any... haunted or paranormal place around? A place where people could have heard or seen some strange things?»  
Thomas hummed, scratching the back of his head.  
«Hm... There may be one place in the whole town that could be haunted, though no one ever had the proof of it. It’s an old house over Neibolt Street. Everyone around know that house to be the 29, Neibolt. That bare name give me shivers just to think about it!»  
He indeed had an uncontrolled wave of shivers crawling over his naked forearms. He rubbed them to chase the feeling away.  
«Anything else?» Ulia asked.  
Thomas had a brief wave of facial movements as he was searching if he wasn’t missing any point.  
«I heard some people saying that they strangely felt observed upon crossing the street. As if the house had eyes and would stare at you. From experience, I know it too. As a kid I used to walk in front of it and it was as if... the house was calling me. Calling me inside, I mean.»  
Ulia nodded.  
«I see. Thank you very much.»

As Thomas apparently felt a good feeling while talking to her, they exchanged their phone numbers if they were to have further contact.   
Ulia wasn’t against it since she did not knew anybody and having someone to chat to wouldn’t be unwanted when the time would come.  
Taking the time, once home, to digest that event and to doom herself for not having taken back her notebook, she found herself starting from scratch.  
A hint of desperation hit her as she suddenly hesitated to explore that abandoned house.  
Only two days and since she arrived she had assault over assault.  
Not that she felt any death menace...  
That thing only seemed to enjoy scaring her with illusions and hallucinations.  
But why?  
That was an important question to ask.  
Why her?  
She felt like she was the only one to who this type of things happened.  
Or maybe it happened to other people but they were too afraid to talk about it, even more in front of a journalist?  
Understandable, in a way.  
Who would believe her?  
First a clown attacked her in the archives of the library, insects pouring out of his face, insects bites she had no traces of on her body.  
Then, a man invited her, pretending to have the answers she was looking for, only to be another trap in a decaying building no one had access to because it was long abandoned and closed to the public-.  
That man...  
Was he the clown? Or was that also an illusion?

After having taken a warm and soothing shower, all her muscles relaxed, she jumped into her pyjamas and into her bed, her laptop never far.  
When she was getting in pyjamas early, she often liked to have a tea, coffee or even some cereals with milk.  
But she still had her stomach twisted from those worms, rats and carbonized human head in the oven.  
She was thinking...  
For sure, for today she had had her fill, so she wouldn’t explore that 29 on Neibolt street tonight.  
Tomorrow, probably.  
She supposed herself that what had happened would prepare her if another assault was to be part of the game but for now, she was wondering, making in her head a virtual diagram of all the things that happened.  
The missing.  
The clown.  
The man.  
The frame.

Browsing over the web some facts about the history of Derry, she found an article summing up some historical details she had not seen at the library.  
A paragraph was mentioning a well-house that used to be in town during the colonial era. People were almost all taking the water from that well but since, no one knows what became of it.  
From the 17th century to 2017, times flies and things change.  
A minor detail you would say.  
But in a paranormal investigation and especially when investigating a whole town - which was brand new to her - anything mattered.  
Oh... Knowing her personality, she was never beaten up for too long.  
After her desperation, she was now boiling inside.  
That clown toyed with her!  
She had met some playful or mocking spirits during her investigations but nothing as serious as this!  
Closing her laptop, she was determined.  
She will investigate that damn house and if that clown shows up, she will settle the score! She was not letting anyone getting in her way!


	8. Review n°6

Around four in the afternoon she had settled all her tools in the old crumbling house.  
Smelling of dust, mud and damp snow, she explored it until the sun had set, her projectors and camera located in every corner of the house, their pale white light flashing in the hallways now plunged in thick black darkness.  
That house was even more creepy at night than it was in broad daylight.  
Some creaking, decaying wood making dust fall from the cracked ceiling was sometimes making her jump as she had settled at a chair and table miraculously still standing up on their worn out feet.  
Her night of investigation started at 8pm.  
After she got familiar with the different rooms, she still bothered exploring them to be sure she did not missed anything.  
Surprisingly enough, her temperature detector in hand and her front lamp wore like a headband on her forehead, she found a locked door in the hallway over the right of the main hall.  
Whipped by rain, sun, wind and snow, the door revealed to be difficult to open.  
If that locked door was thinking it could stop her to see what was hiding behind, it was wrong!  
Using her weight to slam her shoulder against the door, it opened at the third attempt, dust falling from the frame over her hair and her raincoat.  
That room was even more dark then the other, except the pale moon ray filtering through what used to be a window up the wall, now a hole as any trace of life in this house was long gone dead.  
She wondered how that impressive house ended up in such a miserable state. In its glorious days, it must have been something and she judged by the architecture, worn decaying wallpaper and the meager furniture she found, including a bed in one of the rooms upstairs that the house was probably from the last century. Between... the 1880’s and the 1900’s, somewhere around that era.

Her hand over the old wooden rail covered in clouds of dust and spiderwebs, she cautiously walked down the basement, glancing around and moving her head to make a clear map of it in her head.  
Broken shelves with old metallic boxes, oil lamps, ropes, plastic containers, even matchsticks as she curiously looked closer, she turned, looking on the camera of the temperature detector when in the maze of blue and green tones, a spark of yellow and orange caught her attention on her right.  
There was something.  
The spot was tiny, not as tiny as a rat - as she had seen some around the main hall and on the broken piano - and it was fixed. Not moving.  
Glancing from the screen to the area lightened by her lamp, she stared in astonishment at the crumbling shape in the dark.  
«The well!» She exclaimed, looking closer.  
There was still the pulley system and the ropes, though she doubted there would be any water down there.  
Taking a piece of rock from the collapsing well, she let it fall into the pitch black darkness.  
Soon enough, the rock hit what seemed to be the bottom of it and it wasn’t a plick but a toc.  
She found the noise curious as it seemed to be against a surface hard enough yet hollow.  
Maybe wooden planks?  
In any case, going down there was not part of the plan, as she glanced again at the camera she pointed directly to the darkness when suddenly, another variation of temperature rose from the depth of the well.  
Ulia frowned, confused.  
Was that an animal? A rat, perhaps?  
The area of heat was growing, growing, the core of it being red, radiating of heat as the undecipherable shape was coming closer.  
Her heart beating fast in the incomprehension of it, she glanced back at the darkness, moving forward to look in the well.  
She gasped in fright upon hearing a dozen of rats screeching as they ran all over the place.  
They remained noisy for a few minutes, finding each their hiding as Ulia looked some of them disappearing in the dark, hand on her moving chest.  
«Damn rats!» She told, heading upstairs on the creaking stairs.  
She was hoping nose of them would feast on her cables and ruin her investigation.  
Even if nothing had happened by midnight, as she was sitting at her improved office, she at least found what remained of the old well-house.  
Who would have built a house on a well, tell me??  
Since this house looked to be at least the property of someone from the noble or middle class, it could have been a passing fancy of someone rich enough to build such an imposing house on a well that was probably unused pass the Renaissance era.  
Still, that was weird...  
She then, in one of the rooms upstairs around 10pm, she attempted an EVP session, wielding her microphone she held close to speak:  
«Tuesday, 21 November, 2017, EVP session at Neibolt Street 29, in Derry, Maine.»  
The traditional questions followed, if someone was here with her, if some spirits wanted to interact with her, she even attempted to call the clown.  
«If there is an entity name Pennywise here, can it manifest? Move something, making my lamp flicker?»  
Nothing.  
The house remained deadly cold and silent.

As she was falling asleep by three in the morning, still pushing further and further away her sleepy desires, a loud noise pulled her out of her dream-like state.  
It looked close yet distant, as she opened her sleepy eyes, trying to think clearly if it was a trick of her subconscious or if the noise _really_ happened.  
**BANG!**  
**BANG!**  
She jumped in her chair, so hardly that it creaked on the old wooden floor.  
The fridge... in front of her...  
It was shaking.  
What on earth could cause a small fridge to shake like that?!  
She would have been tempted to say «a stray cat» or even a dog but if that would have been the case, the animal would have howled or screamed rather than - and she strongly doubted that it could - shaking the whole thing!  
Frowning, clearly out of her dream-like state, she slowly, cautiously stood, furrowing her brows at the fridge shaking like a leaf.  
Could this be a trick of the clown again?  
The simple thought of it made her nerves boil.  
At about three meters of it, the fridge suddenly stopped shaking, now lifeless again.  
Despite her fear, her blood pumping in her temples and her heartbeat filling her ears, she rose her voice:  
«Is someone her-...»  
She instantly shut her mouth upon guessing the shape of a HAND on the bottom left corner of the fridge’s door, palm open towards her then turning to tap the fridge.  
Her eyes widened in pure shock and her jaw dropped in astonishment. Unconsciously, she stepped backwards, closer to her desk where she put her hand on the corner of the dusty table, as if to cling to something real.  
_Shit, don’t tell me it is..._  
The door swung open as she saw the clown contorted inside, head down, his back in front and his torso in the back, legs and arms cracking the macabre sound of twisted bones. His figure packed in the small fridge untangled rose, his chest spinning while his head remained in place and she could only but stared, stared incredulous because such a thing was humanely **impossible** and she was truly hoping that one of her cameras has caught **this**.  
Thought the jingling sound of his tiny bells brought her back to reality as his little satanic acrobatic performance distracted her.  
For a second, he stared at her then swiftly stepped forward, his figure bent, arms swinging nimbly and graciously as she started to whine, stepping backwards.  
«Ho, ho, ho! Time to float!» He cackled, his voice turning intensely raspy as he rushed over her, her desk, Ulia nimbly dodging him by throwing herself on the dusty ground.  
The desk shattered, her plug sockets flying and the sound of claws scratching and piercing, a rain of shaving wood, electric components and dust showering in the room as she stood fast, running out of the room, the clown at her heels.  
His laugh, his mad laugh was echoing, banging in her head, giving her a headache as she ran in the living room, that thing wanted to **kill** her!!!  
Though she couldn’t leave all her tools here! Some were probably broken but in the confusion she had no idea what was wasted and what was not.

In the dread and panic filling her body, she grabbed in one of the rays of light of her projectors a metallic rusty spike, finding herself in the living room when something tentacle-like grabbed her -yes, tentacle, as it left a deadly cold print and a slimy sensation - over her ankle, she fell, her knees first smacking against the floor then the rest of her body, pain electrifying her whole.  
Swiftly turning on her back, half in the dark, she saw the clown on four about to crawl over her, his flaming red head messy, his face mocking her with the same dread and horror animating her soul.  
He eventually grabbed her by the calves, which she managed to get rid off and smacked her foot in his face.  
He briefly stopped laughing, probably surprised by the hit as his iris rolled backwards. Yet Ulia was the more surprised of the two when she saw crimson red blood leaking upwards out of his red painted nose.  
She stared in confusion, before trying to stand as fast as she could but her knees were scratched and her skin waving in pain.  
She whined, unable to stand straight when a deep growl rose from the clown’s throat, still motionless on the ground.  
Holding the spike as a weapon, she stick her lips together, ready to smash him if he would come closer-  
He suddenly ran at an inhuman speed, shaking himself and screaming, not leaving her a second to understand what the hell was going on.  
When her brain managed to understand, she had her head against the couch’s back, her butt at the limit of the sitting space and an incredible weight over her lap.  
She felt her cheeks flushing of a bright red upon realizing that that thing, that clown was sitting on her lap, one of his whole inner thigh caging the side of her leg.  
If for a split second she knew she was about to die, the rest of the second seemed to stretch endlessly.

From the white neon light of the projector in the room, she could for the first time observe the details of his face.  
The white, cracked paint over his face almost looked like porcelain skin, incredibly complex and detailed.  
That thing, that... creature had a low yet deep breathing rhyme, something so animalistic that it was scary yet amazing at the same time.  
Ulia was catching his massive chest and broad shoulders moving up and down, quietly, smoothly as if none of the crazy moves he had done had tired him.  
His incredible resource was palpable not only in his warm, hot breath but also in the exquisite, vibrant gold light in his eyes. Two pieces of the sun buried in his eyeballs.  
A long, thick, translucent string of drool pooled out of his red plump lips, leaking over his thick ruffs and her pullover as she jumped and whined upon feeling his hands creasing the couch, laying them close to her waist, his pose shifting a bit as if to be at ease while her knuckles had turned white for clenching so hard on the rusty spike.  
His breath almost purred in his throat as his bloody nostrils flared at her scent.  
«Tasty...  
Ulia whined.  
«... Tasty, beautiful fear...» His voice growled, so low, so deep.  
She suddenly remembering she still had a weapon to save herself.  
«G-get away or I-...» She stuttered.  
Lips parted and head lowered for his gaze to stare through her from his lowered brow bone, he gazed at her some more before pulling away, his weight vanishing and leaving her lap cold as he stepped back to the door frame without **ever** gazing away from her before waving at her in a fake friendly attempt, his unsettling smile over his lips when the neon light flickered to the point of shutting down.  
When it lit again, he has disappeared.


	9. Review n°7

Ulia difficultly drank to the neck of her water bottle due to the unstoppable shaking of her hands.  
She remained sat on that couch for about ten minutes, her brain rewinding what just happened.  
He could have killed her. He had the opportunity, served on a silver plate.  
She was miserable and vulnerable with her rusty spike she could have shoved in his skull if she had been less frightened.  
But killing him wasn’t the goal.  
Her goal was clear but what about his?  
From the cracking and breaking sounds she heard in the kitchen when he jumped over her, slicing her throat or ripping her guts wouldn’t have caused much trouble and imagining it made her horribly shiver.  
Eyes wide open, dark rings under her eyes, her night of investigation was over.  
Though upon noticing that at least half of her tools were broken, she slid her hand over her forehead, upset.  
Almost all of her plug sockets were dead, cut, and so were her projectors and her laptop had three wide claw marks over the screen. Her temperature detector and electromagnetic detector were still intact, though.  
Packing up her broken stuff with a disappointed pout, she waited for her taxi outside of the house, indeed feeling just like Thomas had told her, something or _someone_ observing her from the first floor.  
When she gazed at the window before heading into the car, she did not caught anything else.  
She had her fill for the day and was exhausted.

* * *

As she slept late, until 10am, she was decided to have a day off.  
But now that her main tool, her laptop, was broken, she had to call Felton for him to send her a brand new one.  
During her breakfast, a heavy bowl of cereals with milk, she gave the call.  
«Felton speaking, what can I do for you?» Answered his, as usual, unpleasant voice.  
He always made her think about The Penguin from Batman, really, he had the same nose and despicable look.  
«Yes, Felton, it’s Ulia...»  
«Ah, how is the article going?»  
She rolled her eyes and sighed, still tired.  
«Actually, I need a new laptop. Mine is... broken.» She confessed, which threw Felton in a sea of complains.  
«What? Broken? Who did you broke it?! Do you know how much it costs and the time it will spend to deliver it?»  
Playing it as if it was always her fault.  
He had means, means powerful enough to send a brand new laptop in less than 24 hours in another country.  
«Felton, would you mind not playing it this way? You’re rich, you know you can send me one in the next hours. I had a horrible investigation time last night so if you could save me your complains, I would appreciate.»  
She wasn’t usually speaking her mind with him but she was too upset to pay attention to it.  
It apparently surprised Felton since he had a long minute of silence only rhymed by his whistling breath.  
«... Anything else with the laptop?»  
«Yes. I’ll be taking two more weeks to investigate. Long story short, I need more time since I’m not investigating in a single place.»  
«Fine, you’ll take care of sending me the money to pay all of that.» He replied fast before hanging up the phone.  
«B-but-» Said Ulia.  
_Bip...  
Bip...  
Bip..._  
She took her phone away from her ear and stared at it in astonishment.  
What a jerk!  
That bastard was rich but greedy as hell!  
She only had a few saving she was going to spend into a quality laptop and an extra stay for work!  
Grumbling while finishing her bowl, she received a message notification.  
It was Thomas.

_10:18, Thomas:  
Can I come and say «hello»? I have a day off!_

_10:22, Ulia:  
Sure! Here is my address:_

Upon sending the message, she stood and washed her bowl, prepared herself (shower, teeth brushing, brushing her hair in a ponytail) and put on comfy jogging pants and a white T-shirt.  
Thomas arrived by 11 as she heard ringing at the front door.  
She opened to door to face a red roses bouquet and chuckle in surprise.  
«What is that?» She said, Thomas head peaking up as he lowered the bouquet with a smile.  
«A little gift, I just couldn’t come with empty hands»  
Ulia gave him a smile, stepping aside from the front door.  
«Please, come inside. Thank you!» she told, taking the bouquet.  
The roses were of a deep and vibrant red and smelled deliciously good. A delicate, subtle perfume filled her nostrils as she reached for a vase in the small kitchen.  
Upon caressing one of the rose’s fragile petal, that same deep red tint reminded her of the clown’s.  
His plump lips parting, glossy of drool, a sight of the most peculiar as the color red was a metaphor of desire...  
Her smile faded from her lips for something more troubled. Concerned.  
Noticing it, Thomas came closer, slightly touching her shoulder.  
«Are you alright?» He softly asked.  
Ulia withdrew her attention from the flowers to look at Thomas.  
«Yes. Yes, I’m fine, I just...»  
She glanced away.  
Thomas lowered his face, listening.  
«Yes?»  
Ulia shook her head.  
«Even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me so, better avoiding any embarrassing situation!» She joked.  
Thomas had a brief smile.  
«You did listened to me when i believed no one would trust me.» He told, searching for a glare of confidence and trust in her eyes, «So if you’re looking for someone to who talking to, I am your man!» He joked, designing himself from his thumbs.  
Ulia snorted.  
«Okay, I got it!»  
They talked, learning stuff about each other, more than what they talked about at the Falcon Bar, Ulia gladly inviting him to stay for lunch as he even offered help to cook.  
But soon, the conversation came back to her investigation.

«What gave your investigation over Neibolt?» He asked, Ulia bringing him a cup of coffee by the end of lunch.  
She had a long sigh upon sitting, thinking about what she was going to say.  
«Well... I don’t think it is haunted, properly speaking.»  
She scratched the space between her brows.  
«I still need to check once I’ll have sent the money to my manager for him to deliver my new laptop and guaranteeing my staying here for two more weeks.» She confessed, glancing at him.  
Thomas took a sip.  
«How sending money? Isn’t he in charge of it?»  
Ulia bitterly laugh.  
«He is a greedy bitch and since I think I am discovering something more... «Consistent» than a rational reason to the missing, as everyone in town seem to believe it’s the work of murderers, a serial killer or even teens in crisis, I have to pay myself if I want to go to the end of that investigation.» She revealed, fidgeting with her jointed fingers over the table.  
Thomas frowned.  
«What have you discovered?».  
«Well, (She bent in her chair, flattening her back against the chair) first of all, I’ve never encountered this type of being, entity.»  
«Like a ghost?» Questioned Thomas, not to lose track.  
«It’s not a ghost.» Said Ulia, shaking her head, «Neither a demon. He looks so real, yet I can’t understand how it is possible.»  
She rested her head against her fist, exchanging a confused glance with Thomas.  
«He?»  
«As far as I know, it’s a male, a man. This is how he presented himself to me but he is capable of many things. When I arrived and went to the library...»  
She swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling her cheeks reddening in embarrassment.  
«... You won’t believe me, it sounds so silly said like that.» She told biting her lips.  
Thomas shook his head.  
«Nah, you can tell me! I swear I won’t laugh!» He promised, raising his hand in sheer devotion.  
Followed a small silence.  
«When I arrived there, I got lured in the archives. No one saw me going there. And... He presented himself to me as a clown.»  
Thomas eyes widened, though he let her speak.  
«He has been quite aggressive. He knows my phobia of death and dead insects.»  
«What the fuck, it sounds crazy, indeed...» Wondered Thomas.  
«Then yesterday, before meeting you I investigated in town. He tricked me again, looking like a man pretending to live in an apartment block in reality abandoned. It looked so real...»  
Thomas was confused, upset.  
«I don’t know what to think about all this...»  
«Understandable.» She replied, nervously moving her leg under the table.


	10. Review n°8

The sunset was projecting its shadows and vibrant rays of gold and amber over the river’s flow and rocks, the surface shimmering of a billion stars.  
There, a woman with hair as black as the void, her curls dancing in the small breeze. A woman from another time, another era, where social class meant something, where people were judged, separated depending where they belonged to.  
«The Kenduskeag is amazingly quiet, don’t you think Mr. Gray?» She asked, glancing at the man by her side.  
He had incredible, vibrant baby blue eyes. As if God himself had nestled two shards of the skies in his eyes where the shimmering water was reflecting.  
The man had a smile.  
«Indeed.» His quiet voice replied.  
A silly smile stretched the lips of the woman as she bent, taking off her delicate boots, leaving them aside in the mix of rocks and soil, exchanging a playful glance with the man as she lifted her dress up to her calves to run in the fresh, cold water.  
«Come, Mr. Gray! It’s funny!» She exclaimed in the distance, water up to her knees.  
The man had a shy chuckle, looking down before taking off his own boots, walking with great strides to her.  
The woman embraced the earthy scent of the wind kissing her skin, floating in her hair as she turned around, water licking her feet.  
Upon feeling the hand of the man sliding over her tight waist, she turned, smiling at him.  
«Anything is funnier with someone you love...» She told, her hands raising to the sharp line of his jaw.  
A proximity, an intimacy. Something that only belonged to them, far, far away from eyes, manners and society, almost as if they were lost in the woods, trees, only witnesses of their story.

* * *

Ulia opened her eyes.  
What was that dream?  
She straightened in her bed, wiping something from her cheek.  
«I... cried?» She said, gazing at the translucent liquid over her palm.  
She frowned.  
The dream was already fading yet something remained.  
«Gray...?»  
The face of the man was oddly familiar, as he looked exactly like the man she met.  
Bob, was that his name?  
Bob Gray.  
She started the day quite confused after such an odd dream and the similitude with the man she met, that scared her to death along the way.  
She shivered in discomfort upon rewinding the scene in her head.  
The subconscious was quite a strange dimension in the human mind, to project her dreams of a romance with someone that terrified her.  
A trauma flipped upside down.  
She forgot quickly about it during the day as she received a mail from Felton telling her that her laptop have been delivered in a shop downtown and that her extra stay had been accepted.  
She would be able to transfer her data from her broken laptop to her new one, fortunately storing everything on her Cloud.

* * *

She was particularly excited at the idea of discovering if her cameras had caught something during her night of investigation.  
Once back in New-York, she’ll give the word to Felton to make him at least pay for the rest of her broken tools.

Back from town with her package in hand, she opened it like a child opening a Christmas gift.  
Her laptop, brand new, she was glad, excited.  
After about twenty minutes spent getting familiar with it, she collected all her data and started long hours of watching, of pausing, her earphones plugged into her ears.  
Nothing.  
For hours, nothing happened.  
Until she reached 3am.  
The camera she had put above a crumbling cupboard in the kitchen filmed all the scene with night vision.  
She was seeing the fridge shaking, her fear and incomprehension over her face and then...  
She furrowed her brows.  
As much as she had seen him with her own two eyes as consistent as a human being, on the camera it was quite different.  
Taking her camera, she looked back at the photo of the Easter Hunt where his figure was all blurry.  
It was almost the same here as she moved the record frame by frame.  
His figure was blurry, an almost undecipherable, semi-human shape moving towards her in different directions all at the same time when a sudden, thicker shape cut through the table, sharp shadow dismantling the table and her tools as she was seeing herself dodging his attack almost too perfectly compared to the pale consistency of his character on the camera.  
Other thing unsettling.  
His voice.  
As much as in her mind he sounded clear and about «human» despite the very peculiar sound of it, once recorded, it all sounded otherwise.  
For having heard quantity of EVP in her investigations, the voice oddly sounded disembodied.  
**Not from this world.**  
It sent shivers crawling down her spine and his maniac laugh was cackling in her ears until she heard his scream as the second after, he was on top of her.  
His suit felt so cold, yet the skin under, pressing against her lap, was hot.  
She closed her eyes for a second, eyelids fluttering, remembering the feeling, what she felt-  
«**Tasty, tasty beautiful fear...**» Growled the voice in her ears.  
In an abrupt movement, she pulled over her earphones, their head hitting against the table as she closed her laptop.  
Her heart rate had sped up a bit and she flattened her mouth against her fist, elbow over the table, gazing away from her closed laptop.  
What was that?  
She had been terrified by him. Perhaps somewhere he knew her thoughts, that she believed she was going to die on that rotten couch, in a house that was probably a crackhead lair.  
Thought...  
IT didn’t.  
She furrowed her brows.  
Why?  
It had the opportunity to do so.  
Yet he had remained over her, letting her gaze in intrigue over his face and body, did he liked it?  
Maybe.  
_This_, that short moment that seemed to last forever when she gazed at him, studied the creature like a rare jewel, something she had never seen, something so rare and precious that you can only stare in amazement, this did something to her.  
As in the live moment she did not felt any butterflies in her belly, thinking about it now that she was calm and lucid woke them up and she even put her own hand over her belly because it was nonsense.  
Ulia chuckled nervously.  
You would have to be mad, simply mad and deranged to feel that way for something you were unable to comprehend.  
Indeed, she did not understand him. His goals, his motives, his thoughts.  
But in only four days she had gather some parts of the puzzle that she noted down on a piece of paper, trying to connect them in a meaningful way.  
So far, she had the missing. Missing that this year, 2017, started mid-summer, July.  
Then she had the historical facts, unfortunately lost with her notebook, though she remembered a few details about the events, including the whole colony that vanished in the blink of an eye.  
Comes the clown, present during the Ironworks explosion, her meetings with him.  
There was also the man she met, supposedly called Bob Gray and the frame she saw in the apartment.  
She was dooming herself not to have thought about stealing that frame.  
She could have had studied it or showed it to people around or Thomas.

After having thought, flipped and turned in every way possible her puzzle pieces to make them match, she came up with this eventuality:  
That Bob Gray man really existed somehow. Not in her era for sure, perhaps in the last century.  
He was a clown. Pennywise the Dancing Clown from his show name.  
But the clown she met, the beast, the creature... is something else.  
Something that perhaps inspired from that man that really existed and it copied him, perhaps even killed him, she supposed. Everything was possible after all, seeing how crazy that situation was!  
So the clown, Pennywise, is something that needs... meat, in order to survive.  
Human meat.  
Which would explain why people disappear more than the average rate in this town specifically.  
Straightening up from her paper covered in pencil scratches, arrows and various indications, she circled her final explanation. It was silly, no doubt on that but somehow not dumb.  
«I should show this to Thomas.» She thought out loud.


	11. Performance n°3

When the circus open its doors to the public, everything must be perfect.  
Enchanting.  
Magical.  
Surreal.  
The customers have to escape their minds from the world, from their own bodies.  
Old Pennywise granted it to them! He did a good deed!  
Thought that earthwoman...  
He couldn’t make her float!  
Oh, technically, he could...  
But it would waste all the fun!  
Pennywise, like Bob Gray, **loves** a good joke! A fun time!  
Depriving him from it would make him sad... depressed!  
So he let her live. Live a little bit more as he was deciding whether she would live or die!  
At the small back of his wagon, where that little room remained almost the same for about 200 years, the wood still a bit flooded and damp, Pennywise was sat like a child on the same bed, turning the little key at the back of an old, decaying music box, the clinking of the mechanism vibrating in his hand as the music played, sweet, soft, recalling the glorious circus days he knew no more.  
Sometimes, he missed it.  
There was still the Derry Festival happening once in a while despite the missing, which would provide him extra food and a bit of fun but...  
Oh, was that nostalgia striking on the Eater of Worlds??  
Old Pennywise couldn’t miss these day, didn’t he?  
Missing...  
Her?  
Shook with a hint of boiling rage, he pressed his lips together, standing, throwing that damn music box against the wall, the music now annoying to him, the box breaking in the cacophonous sound of failing music notes.  
He growled, deep feral purrs from his chest, his heart beat fastening, sharp teeth wakening the taste of his own blood over his tongue, he **hated** her!  
She betrayed him!   
And that eartwoman, Ulia Sterne...  
She was the same.  
He hated her!  
He would make her pay! Scare her to the point of making her piss in her pants, crushing her mind, making her see-...  
His wide, baby-like eyes suddenly widened.  
_Making her see?_  
Here is an idea that had barely brushed the side of his skull...  
See..  
She’ll close her eyes, close them to see.   
«See it all, Ulia... and if you don’t believe...» Said Pennywise with his odd smile, «Close them Ulia, close them and see!»


	12. Review n°9

«Thank you for coming, really.» Told Ulia, closing the door behind Thomas.  
He nervously scratched the back of his neck upon following her from his gaze to the kitchen.  
«Would you like something to drink?» Ulia asked, the sound of cups clinking.  
«Uh, yes, a coffee please.»  
She let him installing at ease in the living room, sitting at her small dinner table, rubbing his face exhausted from work.

«Here.» She said, giving him the warm cup.  
Thomas took a sip of the warm coffee followed by Ulia.  
«What did you wanted to show me? You sounded quite troubled when I heard your voice.»  
Ulia nodded.  
«I want to show you something that I filmed during my investigation at Neibolt.»  
Thomas frowned as she reached for her laptop, putting it in front of him.  
«But didn’t you told me that you didn’t found anything there?»  
«Look.» She said, pressing a button to play the video.  
Thomas stared at the assaulting scene in the kitchen in astonishment.  
Upon hearing the table shattering, he jumped as Ulia paused.  
«What the fuck...» He swore, completely stoned by the video.  
«You see it all blurry here, but I can swear you that I could see him as I’m seeing you in front of me, Thomas.» She told, gazing at him as Thomas glanced at her.  
«I’ve never seen such a thing... If you saw him distinctly, then why is it all blurry here?» He wondered, looking at the screen.  
«I have no idea...» She confessed, shaking her head.  
Thomas backed in the chair, feeling the need to be hold by the hardness of the wood.  
He blinked several times, the images freshly printed in his mind.  
«What are you going to do?» He questioned, exchanging a solid glance with her.  
«I’ve gathered some pieces of the puzzle, and I am certain it is neither a demon nor a ghost.»  
«An alien, maybe?»  
Ulia’s eyes widened.  
«An alien? That would shapeshift and eat people?»  
She snorted at the idea but...  
«Don’t mock me!» Thomas said on a hurtful tone.  
Ulia pouted.  
«... Actually it could be this... I’m not a specialist in UFOS or alien forms of life but... It fits.»  
Thomas put his hand over his forehead, overwhelmed by the situation.  
«You’ll have to explain me how you’re able to keep focus on that. Just to think about things that we cannot understand give me a headache.»  
She rolled her shoulders.  
«It’s my job, so I’m afraid I don’t have any choice. But I have to admit that all of this intrigues me. I want to go to the end of it.»  
Thomas had a brief astonished reaction.  
«That thing wanted to kill you, are you aware of that?»  
She had a sigh.  
«Yes but...»  
She had a small silence, swallowing the lump in her throat.  
«He didn’t.»  
Thomas stood, Ulia looking away and biting her thumbnail.  
«What do you mean, he didn’t?»  
She glanced at him, feeling her cheeks tingling.  
«When I was vulnerable, he had the opportunity to kill me. Though, he didn’t. He left and left me where I was. He was almost like... A panther, gazing at its meal before the final hit. Then he disappeared.»  
He stared at her, a mix of misunderstood and astonishment hardening his face for a moment.  
«What’s your next step, then?»  
«I don’t know... Maybe considering writing a draft for my article. I took an extra stay of two weeks to investigate more.»  
«If you move, I want to go with you!» He suddenly told, stepping closer in a protective, brave gesture.  
Ulia’s eyes widened.  
«What? No! It’s too dangerous! As much as I have only been afraid, I can’t guarantee it will be the same for you!» She rose her voice.  
«At least you won’t be alone! I’ll take a weapon, in case he attacks!»  
Ulia slid her hand over her face, disagreeing.  
«You see, this... It’s going straight to conflict.»  
He furrowed his brows.  
«So what? It’s better to go unprepared if that thing wants to turn us into Happy Meals?»  
She had a small grumble in her throat.  
«That’s not what I said... I’m not here to fight him. I want to understand-»  
«What if it really is the responsible of all the missing? Those kids, those teens that some of them haven’t even been buried properly??»  
She blinked.  
«... It probably is... But to what cost?»  
Thomas frowned.  
«What? You maybe have discovered the **thing** that has been gnawing over the town for centuries and you’re not even willing to kill it to defend yourself?»  
She glared at him.  
«Excuse me, (She squinted her eyes, standing up too at a slow pace) I’m not sure that I am really understanding your purpose. You want to kill him?»  
«If he’s a curse?»  
She shook her head in denial.  
«Thomas, this is not my goal. I investigate, interview, I’m a journalist and not the savior of mankind. I will not fight him because first: (She mimicked it with her fingers) I’m not a killer.  
Second: I have no actual proof that it is an alien eater of Man. And third: We aren’t even sure that he can be killed. Trust me, I know what I’ve experienced. And I know that this creature has more than one trick up its sleeve.»  
Thomas took a few seconds to think, breathing heavily.  
«Right... But I want to escort you, at least. I want to help.»

She didn’t had any other choice but to accept.  
As much as she was older than him of four years, she had the responsibility to take care of him as Thomas was strongly determined to go with her in her next exploration.  
Surprisingly enough, he even took a day off on Friday to investigate with her.  
Through text, she gave him the list of the equipment he must had to investigate properly.

_22:45, Ulia:  
First of all, you need waterproof boots. High boots, preferably.   
A raincoat. Clothes to keep you warm and a powerful lamp._

_22:49, Thomas:  
Okay, I have all of this, but...  
Why waterproof boots??_

_23:00, Ulia:  
From what I’ve gathered from my researches, that creature lives in the sewers.  
The Neibolt House was built over the ancient well-house and I believe his true lair is underground. Aren’t scared of grey waters I hope? :)_

_23:05, Thomas:  
... You must be joking, right? :(_

Indeed, Ulia wasn’t joking.  
Thomas drove his car near many of the passageways to The Barrens, sighting as he closed the door of the car, followed by Ulia, a wide smile over her face.  
«Come on, it’s just dirty water!»  
«If I catch a staphylococcus and die because of it, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your days!» He threatened, playfully.  
She snorted as they walked in the forest, listening to the Kenduskeag stream in the distance rhyming the silence in the trees covered in snow, their shoes cracking upon walking over the snow.  
«With a bit of chance, the water will be frozen inside. Free ice skating!» Ulia joked, which made him chuckle.  
«Good attempt, Ulia, good attempt!»  
Soon, they reached a huge canal, its darkened gate opening like the gate to the realm of death, few frozen and dead branches like a macabre curtain in front of it.  
They both glanced at each other, Ulia taking out her lamp from her backpack, followed by Thomas.  
«Ready?» She told as she saw his Adam’s apple bobbing.  
He nodded.  
Poor boy, she knew he was afraid...  
«Alright then... Let’s go.» She said, penetrating inside the canal, Thomas on her heels.

* * *

It was freezing cold down there, as their ankles were making waves above the surface of the bottomless looking grey waters.  
«This place scares the crap out of me!» Complained Thomas, his raincoat’s hood firmly pulled around his shivering face as Ulia was stepping forward, illuminating the spherical shape of the tunnel with her lamp, ignoring the cold numbing her fingertips and face.  
«You couldn’t have visited the Catacombs of Paris then! Staying isolated into a maze of skulls and bones, not for you!»  
«Not really...» Thomas said, having a disgusted grunt upon seeing an abandoned shoe navigating over the water.  
«Ulia...» He called, making her turn, the light of her lamp illuminating the shoe.  
Stepping closer, she put her backpack on her chest to take out a pair of medical blue gloves to take the shoe without a risk of infecting her skin.  
They exchanged a glance as Thomas stepped closer, his lamp brightening the inside of the shoe...  
«Elizabeth Johnson...» Red Ulia before giving a disturbed gaze to him.  
The teen that had disappeared, one of the many and not the last...  
«Oh shit...» Thomas faintly said before they both heard a loud rumbling in the distance.  
They about turn at the endless darkness of the canal, water droplets and calm, waving water echoing all around.  
A dreadful silence followed.  
«W-what was that?» Questioned Thomas, a hint of fear in his voice.  
He was clearly terrorized by that investigation. Ulia thought that it would surely have been different if they weren’t tracking an unknown shapeshifting beast lurking in the shithole of the town that could probably reap them like a self-proclaimed god of Death.  
«I don’t know.» Ulia replied, walking forward.

After a long silence spent walking in the same endless maze of straight tunnels of damp concrete and soaked metal pipes, Thomas’ voice rose again, echoing all around.  
«What are we looking for, exactly?»  
«Him?» She suggested without turning, «His lair, something, anything that could confirm my thoughts.»  
He hummed, not really convinced.  
«Including maybe a body... Do you think any one would believe what happens here, in Derry?»  
She stopped walking, turning to face him, water noisily waving around her feet.  
«Honestly? I don’t know. Every single thing that happened to me in this town is unbelievable.»  
Ulia faced the darkness of the sewers again.  
«For sure, it would make an incredible horror story worthy of Stephen King himself!» She told louder as the whole structure around them started to vibrate.  
They both froze, illuminating each others’ face as droplets of water leaked from the ceiling, the water at their feet trembling.  
Something was coming, at an incredible speed, a sound progressively getting louder, buzzing...  
**Streaming.**  
«Water...» Murmured Thomas, panic plastering over his face.  
Grabbing Ulia by the wrist, they both started to run in the opposite direction, when a violent, abrupt and freezing cold torrent of water flew over them, barely giving them any time to hold their breath.  
The water slapped in their back like a violent shock against a brick wall, flooding them away in the tunnel, almost drowning them underwater.  
Ulia tried to cling to him, to hold onto his wrist but the water burst was too strong.  
She lost his touch and his track, carried away by the stream, swallowing water and sent to oblivion in the process.


End file.
